Broken
by jessicarocket
Summary: This was supposed to be just another routine visit to headquarters. While the events of the morning were far from unexpected, I find it affecting me differently than it has in the past and I can't quite put my finger on how or why.


Hi again! If you've read the things I've written thus far, you've probably figured out that introspective stuff is my thing, so here we go again. This is a bit of a departure from my usual style in that it's more loose and unstructured and written in first-person, present tense. This piece is on the heavy side and really focuses on the depression feels, or at least the way it has felt to me, as someone has dealt with it on and off for many years. This was a fun way to process some stuff and stretch myself as a writer, so I hope it's enjoyable to read and perhaps it will resonate with someone who is struggling with these sorts of feelings.

The opening lines are lyrics from Bush's "Glycerine"

Thanks for reading! Please drop me a review (even just a few words are helpful!) and let me know what you think.

* * *

 _I'm never alone_

 _I'm alone all the time_

It's a funny paradox, isn't it? I've had hardly a moment to myself in at least a decade, and my present situation is no exception, yet I find myself feeling lonelier than I can ever recall feeling before. I'm in space bustling with people, yet none of them really see me. There's a chorus of chatter all around me, yet no one would hear me even if I did add my voice to it. I feel utterly invisible in this crowd. Where do I fit in all of this? What is my purpose in it all?

I'm staring into the blackness of the coffee inside my mug, feeling increasingly disconnected from my surroundings with each passing minute. This was supposed to be just another routine visit to headquarters, and while the events of the morning were far from unexpected, I find it affecting me differently than it has in the past and I can't quite put my finger on how or why.

As usual, we stumbled into the boss's office for our quarterly update. As usual, I was a sweaty, shaky, stammering mess who envied the partners on either side of me for their ability to hold their heads high and appear so stoic. As usual, the boss looked at us with the same disgust he would an errant weedle scuttling across his freshly scrubbed, sparkling floors. As usual, he scolded us for our incompetence and reminded us that we were the most pathetic agents Team Rocket had ever known. All of this was routine. I'm accustomed to it by now.

So, what was different? This time, as he dismissed us, he uttered each of my partner's names with contempt before his eyes rested on me. For a fraction of a second, he paused. An unreadable expression flashed across his face before his gaze dipped lower toward my file, resting on the desk in front of him. We are constant thorns in his side, and if I were a betting man, I'd put money on us being one of his biggest regrets. And yet, he can't even remember my name. What hurts more than being a failure to your idol? Being absolutely nothing to him.

I'm shaken from this dark memory by the sound of my partner's voices across our small table on the edge of the packed cafeteria. Their voices are dripping with spirit and enthusiasm. In their usual way, they've taken failure and converted it into fuel, rather than allowing it to become crushing deadweight on their shoulders as it is on mine. I long to be more like them.

I drag my eyes away from my now lukewarm coffee to gaze on the face of the woman I love more than life itself. I can see embers of passion burning in her eyes, a triumphant fist in the air as she beams with determination. Her unwavering optimism is intoxicating and infectious, and even at my lowest points I find her lifting me up. For a moment, when I look at her beaming face, I forget all of my troubles. For a moment, when I look into the sparkling sapphire of her eyes, I find it's _me_ forgetting my own name this time. For a moment, I'm lost in a daydream, far from these white walls and fluorescent lights and judgmental sneers of other agents.

And then reality comes crashing down again. She'll never love me. She's perfection in every sense of the word and nothing about me evenly remotely resembles the partner of her dreams. She longs for luxury and security and family. Me? I'm the coward who ran from all of those things.

"Hey, Jimmy. Youse okay?"

The tone of voice coming from my normally boisterous feline companion is distinctively soft and tender. I barely even register his words at first. When my eyes flick to his face, I see concern etched across every feature of it. Out of the corner of eye, I can tell Jessie is wearing an identical expression. Some dark, unseen space in the back of my mind tells me it isn't concern, but rather pity. I'm nothing more than a lost, pitiful child dragging them down at every turn.

I loathe myself for being the reason their mood has suddenly shifted for the worse. I need to fix this. I need to deflect.

"Y-yeah. I'm fine!" Even I know my forced reply wasn't terribly convincing.

"Ya barely said more'n two words all day and you're surrounded by food but ya ain't even eatin' any of it. Dat don't sound 'fine' tah me."

I force a chuckle and plaster on the best smile I can muster. "I can't fool you, can I? I'm just a bit down in the dumps after that meeting with the boss. You know. Just a bad day. I'll be better tomorrow!"

I expect them to accept that and move on, so I'm startled by Jessie immediately replying in a pointed tone. "No, James. It's not just a bad day. You've been like this for weeks."

Her observation isn't wrong, I just wish she hadn't noticed it. For weeks, I've tried to behave like everything is entirely normal while this strange combination of crushing melancholy and blinding emptiness battle each other inside me. My drive has left me, and though I frantically search for it around every corner, I can never seem to find it.

I love Jessie and Meowth more than I've ever loved anyone or anything. The last thing I want is to drag them down into this abyss with me. I've just watched their fires extinguish right before my eyes because of _me_ , and I refuse to let this happen again.

"You're right. I have been a bit 'off' lately. I think I'll go for a walk. A little sunshine and fresh air will do the trick, I'm sure!"

I see them both raise their eyebrows at me quizzically, but I turn and walk away before they can respond any further.

I don't even realize I'm staring at my shoes until my shoulder collides roughly with that of another person. Whether the person was a fellow agent or a grunt is unknown as I can't even find the energy to lift my head and get a good look at them. After I sputter a weak apology, the familiar, gravelly voice that croaks back at me answers that question.

The halls of the base are just as crowded as the cafeteria and I silently pray no one will look at or speak to me. My mind is too exhausted to force another interaction.

At last, I reach those blessed doors and my hope for a lift of my mood and recharge of my soul lie just on the other side. There's not a cloud in the sky to block the sun's happy rays from my skin and there's a grassy hill just a short walk away with an unobstructed view of Viridian Forest. My fondest memories as a child were sunny days, just like this one, on Nanny and Pop-Pop's estate where I frolicked with grass pokemon and left all of my troubles locked away at home. I can't help but feel as though the stars have aligned and I've finally found my ticket back to that state of weightless bliss.

My eyes fall shut as I focus my senses on the warmth against my face and the softness of the grass beneath my palms. I run my hands through it, allowing the blades to tickle the skin between my fingers. With a deep inhale, I savor the faint herbal smell as a light breeze brushes past me. I long for that happy rush of nostalgia and will myself to feel it, but it doesn't come. Emptiness remains. I stuff my hand into my right pocket where I always keep that special stash of bottle caps- my constant source of comfort and solace in a life of chaos. My fingertips brush against the cool metal as I rustle them gently, focusing on that sweet jingle I can always count on. I wait for the euphoric swell in my chest that usually follows, but this time, it doesn't come. Emptiness remains.

Something is wrong with me. I'm broken.

The back hole of emptiness inside me twists at that thought and I can feel the dam begin to break. My chest tightens and throat constricts, telltale signs that a breakdown is on the horizon. Much like mother nature warns of an impending storm by shifting the wind and dropping the temperature, my body is not-so-subtly throwing me warning signs that my storm is on its way.

But I can't let anyone see it happen. My reputation around this organization is bad enough as it is without any of these people seeing me cry. I need to preserve what little dignity I have left, not just for my sake, but for the sake of Jessie and Meowth as well. They deserve better than getting caught up in the messes I create.

The walk to my room simultaneously flies by and drags on indefinitely. I desperately focus on my breathing, forcing it to remain slow and steady as I dig my fingernails into my palms in an effort to stay grounded. Somewhere in the back of my barely functioning brain, I find myself feeling immensely grateful that no one says a word and even throws a glance my way. My hands are tense and unsteady, but I manage to unlock the door and stumble inside my room just in time.

The skies inside me open up and the storm unleashes its fury. I fall face first into the bed, grabbing the first pillow I can reach and wail into it, grateful for the way its softness yields to my face and muffles my cries. My entire body is convulsing with each sob, but I don't fight any of it. In a way, it feels like a release I've craved for weeks.

This storm is relentless, and at this point I can't tell if I've been weeping into a pillow for hours or mere minutes. Either way, it's blowing through me at full force and an end doesn't seem to be in sight.

I feel something press against the center of my back and for a split second I'm certain I've imagined it. Then it slides up and grips my shoulder as the sweet melody of a familiar voice whispers in my ear.

"James. It's me. I'm here."

 _Jessie._

I feel the mattress shift as she sits next to me and runs her hands through my hair. I melt against the sensation of her fingernails grazing my scalp. Beneath the temper of this mercurial woman is a tenderness that knows no bounds and a maternal side that only a select few have the privilege of seeing. Somehow, despite my long list of failures and shortcomings, I've managed to become one of those privileged few.

I turn my head just enough to peek at her through a tear-clouded eye. And through those clouds, I see the face that never ceases to take my death away. Where I expect to find a look of pity, I instead find empathy and understanding. I can't imagine anything more soothing in this moment.

I finally find my voice. "I-I'm sorry, Jess. I... I'm not okay."

She hums softly in reply.. "I know. But you will be."

Then I feel her weight gradually press against me as she leans against my back and wraps both arms around my waist. It's just enough pressure to feel secure without feeling restrained. It's perfect. She's perfect.

The storm is subsiding. The flow of tears is slowing. I'm acutely aware of another, albeit smaller, set of arms wrapping around me as best they can and I know exactly who they belong to.

In the absence of my cries, silence fills the room. Even if I could find any words to say right now, I don't have any desire to speak because there's something so serene and peaceful about this silence. My two best friends don't say a word either. They just hold me.

And I can't think of anything more comforting than this.


End file.
